It was there that he was discovered by Eugène Savillhac, an acquaintance who since his success had become his friend. In that portion of society smarter than good Savillhac was one of those hangers-on who boost their own stock by boosting the stock of others. It appeared, incredibly, that every one of the hundreds he knew was the most extraordinary person in Paris. “Ah, there you are, _mon vieux_!” he cried. “What luck! The youngest prize winner of the spring Salon and the most extraordinary woman in Paris are under the same roof. It is the first duty of a celebrity to be known by Madame Sutrin.” He indicated a large woman in black silk whose plain skirt, neither full enough to be picturesque nor scant enough to be fashionable, swayed like a peasant’s from side to side as she waddled briskly through the crowd. Before her marriage to Timoléon Sutrin, the rich sugar industrial, she had been the beautiful Simone d’Estray of the Opéra Comique; but her beauty had been of that drastic sort which perfectly represents the triumph of feminine mind over matter, and after her marriage, with her future secure, she had comfortably allowed herself to become what nature had always intended her to be--very fat and very ugly. But she had the faculty of retaining all her old friends and quickly making new ones, and her flamboyant _hôtel_ in the Avenue Victor Hugo was continually the scene of brilliant though somewhat dubious gatherings of boulevard celebrities, leavened with a scattering of those persons of real distinction who find delight in such society. “Come, and I shall present you,” said Savillhac, and darted across the space, Ventrillon unenthusiastically trailing. Smiling benevolently, Mme. Sutrin turned to face them. Her tight black bodice was pointed like a basque, and a large plastron of jet beads was applied down its generous front from the high collar about her neck to where her skirt was gathered in at her expansive waist. The unmistakable shadow of a coming event decorated her upper lip. “Aha,” boomed Mme. Sutrin in the mighty bass which once had been a magic contralto, “and to what lady of the Opéra Comique do you want me to introduce you now?” “Ah, madame,” said Savillhac, “you deceive yourself. I have brought a young man to introduce to you. The most extraordinary young man in Paris, in fact. My friend Ventrillon, the youngest prize winner of the spring Salon.” With a fine gesture he produced Ventrillon from invisibility. Mme. Sutrin gasped as if struck in the face. “_Bon dieu!_” she exploded at last, “Adonis!” “Enchanted, madame,” murmured Ventrillon. “I am honoured----” “Don’t waste a look like that on an old woman!” boomed Mme. Sutrin. “Young man, this world is badly arranged. Either I should have been born twenty years later, or you twenty years earlier. You should have known me in my youth. Both of us would have profited.